


Bound

by Viva_La_Vier



Series: Until Undeath [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Bloodbound (Visual Novels), Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Comedy, Dark Humor, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Femslash, Friends to Lovers, Original Characters - Freeform, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27476764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viva_La_Vier/pseuds/Viva_La_Vier
Summary: Nirn is still in need of saving and Meraxes is finally up for the task. In addition to taking on the helm of Dragonborn, she must navigate her true destiny and newfound love as the universe shatters around her. Demons lurk everywhere. Fate is insurmountable. Can Meraxes and friends survive the dangers closing in?URGENT UPDATE: I will embark on a survival trek for 6 weeks in Mesa, Arizona. This means I am putting this story on hold until late March or sometime in April. I love all my fans and thank you so much for your patience. I hope you eagerly await the next chapter! It’s going to be...long.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Serana, Orthjolf/Vingalmo
Series: Until Undeath [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1999189
Comments: 9
Kudos: 38





	1. Nightfall

**Author's Note:**

> 1) _Bound_ is rated Mature for mentions of drugs, substance abuse, graphic violence and language, sexual themes and/or references, and death. There are warnings posted at the ends of each Chapter intended to caution readers of extreme situations and avoid triggering anyone.
> 
> 2) _Bound_ is _**not**_ a crossover. It is an Elder Scrolls fanfiction with references to Game of Thrones and Bloodbound lore.
> 
> 3) _Bound_ is not meant to be a standalone. Please read the first story, _Kindred,_ to avoid spoilers and provide context for _Bound._
> 
> 4) This story is not meant to be read in Reversi mode, as it contains images in every chapter. So you can enjoy the full experience, I recommend turning Reversi off while reading _Bound._

**From** the end of a long table, Meraxes watched Gunmar struggle with his decision.

She knew what the contract entailed: if Gunmar signed it, the Dawnguard would become a formal part of the Imperial Army with him as a brand new Legate. Her advice would have been to affirm.

Skyrim would need all the vampire hunters it could get, given the sun no longer loomed in the sky even during hours that were supposed to host daylight.

That's what Emperor Titus Mede II had brought them all to Castle Dour for.

"After Gunmar signs, we'll introduce members of the College of Winterhold who have kindly come to Solitude to research for us," the Emperor said.

Meraxes felt Serana grip her hand beneath the table when Titus gestured to Sybille Stentor.

"Thanks to Meraxes and the efforts of the Imperial Army, Sybille has in her custody two powerful vampires by the names Orthjolf and Vingalmo. She will run tests on them and help craft weapons for Tamriel to combat vampires efficiently."

Meraxes tightened her grip on Serana. How would the public opinions of vampires change during and after this crisis, if it ever ended?

She didn't think Serana or Soren would be accepted anywhere ever again.

"Sybille insists we need intelligence on these vampires before proceeding with tests in case her examinations terminate either subject." The Emperor nodded at Soren. "Boy, you must pose as a traitor to Meraxes and gather information on them. We will set you free in seven days' time and ask what you have learned.”

Soren wanted to say something, but remained quiet in hearing the voice of the Emperor. It wasn't like he had much of a choice in the matter.

"I'll interpret your silence as an agreement. Next, we have the matter of Gunmar's contract and the implementation of the Dawnguard Division of the Imperial Army."

Frowning pensively, Gunmar scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page.

"It seems that's been resolved." Titus clasped his hands together and turned to his guests from the College. "Here, we have Mirabelle and Ancano. They, as well as our own Serana, are charged with doing the research necessary to return the sun to the sky." Titus then narrowed his eyes at Serana. "Can I trust you to do well?"

"Of course you can trust her," Meraxes said before Serana could speak for herself. "I'd trust her with my life."

Titus laughed softly. "Well, the Dragonborn talks." He smiled and dipped his head at Meraxes. "As for you, you will move out in two days' time. Your duty as Dragonborn comes first, no matter what your companions must do."

"But—" Meraxes growled in protest.

Titus spun around. "Do _not_ defy me, Dragonborn. I know what is best for my country."  


"It's _Meraxes,"_ she hissed, "And you had my father killed. I don't have to listen to you."  


Serana kicked her under the table.  


_"Ow."_  


"It seems your friend wishes to knock some sense into you, as she should." Titus' hands interlocked beneath his robe sleeves. "I am the Emperor of Tamriel. You are citizenry."  


"He's right, Meraxes." Serana swallowed hard. She didn't _want_ Meraxes to bear the responsibility of Dragonborn, but that was a bridge they'd already crossed. "You need to do this for everyone, not just you or me.”  


After kicking Meraxes, Serana wanted to kick herself. She felt dread creep into her heart as she spoke. Whether Titus was right or not, Serana didn't like the prospect of letting Meraxes off on her own.  


"Smart woman," replied the Emperor, "Meraxes, you have two days to stay in Castle Dour before you begin your journey. You are lucky I have been so kind as to lend you a small fortune to purchase whatever necessities you need for the endeavor. I do not wish to see you again after that until you have slain the World-Eater."  


Meraxes growled. Serana squeezed her hand harder, making the noise die down.  


_"Fine."_  


"Thank you," Serana said. She thought Meraxes' behavior toward the Emperor was completely unjustified, but could understand where she was coming from emotionally.  


She had just lost both her parents.  


That fact ate at her like termites at wood for as long as she sat at the Emperor's long table.  


"Where is my housecarl?"  


"Lydia was fatally injured protecting Soren outside Castle Volkihar," Mirabelle said, "She has the best care in Tamriel. She should pull through."  


Meraxes grunted sternly. How had she not known that?  


"Can I visit, Ser Meraxes?" Soren asked her. Meraxes' expression suggested the answer wasn't up to her at all, which she knew to be true. She didn't have a say over the Emperor.  


That was just the way things were.  


"I will leave you now to meet one another and retire to your chambers. Phase One of our sun restoration plan begins early tomorrow. Sleep well."  


_Early._ It was impossible to tell when that was anymore, given the sun hid from view.  


Meraxes sneered at the word. She'd wake up when she wanted to.  


**It** was far from the first time Meraxes heard someone knock on her door.

She wasn't sure what to expect. Was it Zira returning to bitch about something, or perhaps the Emperor, figuring she needed another talking to? Was Lydia up and running, or did Soren want a word with her?  


She opened the door and found Serana on the other side.  


"I wanted to see you," Serana said softly. As always, she sat on the side of Meraxes' bed without asking. "I need to know how you are. Certainly, this whole Dragonborn thing can't be too easy."  


Meraxes shook her head. "Kodlak once told me that holes in your heart are a demon's playground. That the worst thing you can do is hide your sadness from those dear to you." She sat beside Serana, staring level at the door. "You lost both of your parents, and you're worried about _me?_ I should be asking you if you're okay."  


Serana sniffled. "I'll admit it'll take some getting used to."

She wiped her nose with her hand and looked at Meraxes with teary eyes. Alas, the walls she held up so expertly had begun to come down.  


"One of the things Kodlak taught me was that it's okay to cry," Meraxes said and rested her hand on Serana's shoulder. Serana folded into her like an abandoned tavern menu.  


"It's not necessarily that they're missing, Meraxes..." Serana trailed off as she examined a painting over Meraxes' arms.  


It was of a man attacking a woman and two children standing between the conflict. It was beautiful.  


Beautiful and sad.  


"It's about what could have been. We _could_ have been a great family." Serana pulled away, looking into Meraxes' eyes which were now sky blue. If the sky _were_ still blue, anyway. "But my father was consumed by power and my mother spite. It was a disaster from the very beginning."

"Perhaps not from the beginning," Meraxes said as she reached for Serana's hand. "But I'm willing to guess things fell apart when your father gave you to Molag Bal."  


"I don't want to talk about that." Serana spoke quickly, throwing the subject out the window as fast as she could. "I just came to check on you."  


Meraxes hummed. "Sky Haven Temple is next on my list. Based on what the Emperor said, I don't believe you're coming with me."  


Her statement sounded like a question.  


"No, Meraxes." Serana shook her head sadly. "I can't." She then feigned a smile, standing. "You should visit Lydia before you leave. I think she'd be happy to see you."  


With that, she started toward the door, leaving Meraxes in a confused silence.  


There were a number of things they never had the chance to talk about.  


Sure, Molag Bal was one of them, but Serana had told Meraxes she loved her.  


Did she mean that? How was Meraxes to know?  


She supposed it didn't matter at the moment. Serana has just lost both of her parents.  


To a degree, Meraxes knew what that felt like.  


**Soren** felt like he'd been thrown into a fire.

"Into the gallows, _traitor,"_ Sybille snarled and tossed him into Orthjolf and Vingalmo's cell. He was impressed with how good her acting was, considering she was only a Court Wizard.  


"Oh, great." Orthjolf rolled his eyes. "What did _you_ do to wind up here?"

"I stabbed Meraxes in the hand," Soren said meekly. "She didn't like it."

"Well, no shit," Vingalmo snapped and crossed his arms. "Normal people don't like being stabbed."  


"What the hell is your name, anyway?"  


"Soren."  


"And have you heard of Lord Harkon?"  


Soren swallowed hard. He had to hide the fact that he was with Meraxes and saw Harkon die before his eyes, though he was certain at least one of the more powerful vampires knew that.  


"I was there when he died," Soren said truthfully.  


"Ah." Orthjolf tossed a rock at the cell wall and chuckled when it split into pieces. Since the bars were made of silver and nullified their vampiric abilities as well as Vingalmo's magic, they hadn't many pastimes other than throwing things around. "You were part of Serana's group."  


"That's right. I knew Lady Serana."  


"I figured," Vingalmo said flatly. He didn't seem very impressed with Soren at all. "So, what now, whelp? Why did you defy your Master like that?"  


"She wasn't my _Master,"_ Soren spat. He felt a new type of strength boil in his belly when Vingalmo called her that. It was a familiar term; one he'd used to refer to Thorald in House Gray-Mane. "She was...my friend." He looked down. In order to extract information from Orthjolf and Vingalmo, he had to pretend. "Until she betrayed vampire kind and killed her father!"

Orthjolf laughed again. "I like you. You've got spunk."  


Vingalmo, however, didn't seem convinced. "And you're in here with us because you believe the Tyranny of the Sun should be maintained?"  


Soren stared back at him. "Absolutely."  


What disturbed Soren most was not that he was trapped in the same cell as Orthjolf or Vingalmo, but how playing his new role made him feel fulfilled and exhilarated.  


Was it normal to get such a rush from lying?  


"All right, Soren," Orthjolf said and flashed a menacing smile. "Welcome to our happy, little prison."  


Lydia coughed and rolled over in her bed, some of her guts still spilling from her belly. She knew the whole time that she wasn't going to make it regardless of what the mages told her.  


She was going to Sovngarde, and soon.

"Is...Soren here?" Lydia asked. Blood spilled from her mouth again, drowning her white sheets in the substance.  


Mirabelle frowned starkly. "He's on official government business. We can't extract him early.”  


_"Oh,"_ Lydia said and erupted in more coughing. "What about...Zira?" Tears formed at her eyes. "Meraxes?"

"The Dragonborn is asleep and I have been instructed not to wake her. But I'll see what I can do about Zira."  


Moments later, Mirabelle emerged with the assassin at her side. Lydia's vision had become so blurry by then that she could hardly tell who was whom.  


_"...Zira?"_  


She'd been holding on for so long.  


At least she wouldn't die alone.  


"It's me," she heard Zira say. Her voice sounded sad.  


"It's okay, Zira." Lydia tried to smile. "I'm dying... _a true Nord's death."_  


"That you are."  


Lydia felt Zira hold her hand as she slipped into darkness.  


She had done her duty and served her Thane until the end. That made her smile as she left the mortal realm, heaving her last breath—  


—and passing into Sovngarde.

* * *

**End of Chapter 1.**

**Next:** Meraxes resumes her work as the Dragonborn. Serana assists with the excavation of Saarthal. Astrid and Zira meet again.

 **SB:** It's been an incredibly long ride between starting _Kindred_ and beginning this story. You'll notice, based on the fact that Lydia died in this Chapter, that this book is off to a dark start. It will be mainly about character arcs and development, which means many trials lie ahead of our protagonists...


	2. Mourning Never Comes

**When** Meraxes heard her door open in the middle of the night, her first instinct was to reach for Kindred.

However, when she saw Serana's face, she was quick to drop the handle.

"You sleep with your sword?" Serana asked and nearly laughed.

Meraxes' brow furrowed. "You already know I do, Serana." She forced herself to sit on her bed, propping herself up with her hands. "What's wrong?"

Serana's mirth replaced itself with a stark frown.

"Lydia died."

"Oh." Meraxes lied back, her face contorting in anger. Lydia died under her orders.

Her housecarl's blood was on her hands.

"Talos, damn it," Meraxes cursed aloud and grabbed a fistful of her sheets.

"I couldn't sleep," Serana said and sat down on the bed, shaking her head ruefully. "So I thought I'd find you. You usually have a way of making things better for me."

Meraxes snorted. "Me? Better? Those words don't go together at all." She tucked a pillow close to her chest and sighed.

"Something's on your mind." Serana covered Meraxes' hands with her own, wondering what thoughts were haunting her that night. "Talk to me."

Meraxes met her brimstone eyes. "Why didn't you Turn me when you had the chance?"

Serana stared at the floor. "Meraxes, I know eternal life isn't something you want."

Meraxes' eyes widened. How had Serana known that? Was it when she denied Harkon's gift, or when she spoke of her lycanthropy that Serana had discovered such a thing? Or was it when she denied becoming a vampire to descend into the Soul Cairn?

"Letting you go..." Serana nearly choked at the memory, wondering if Lydia had passed on satisfied without Soren or Meraxes there. "...Was the hardest thing I'd ever done." She at last looked into Meraxes' eyes. "I never want to do it again."

The last thing Serana expected was for Meraxes to wrap her arms around her. But that was exactly what came to pass, Meraxes tucking Serana into her well-muscled chest and sighing.

"I'm sorry you had to." Meraxes let herself crack a smile, which replaced itself with a sad look when she remembered the fate Lydia had met. "I'll never die again." Meraxes soon leapt to correct herself. "Well, not in the near future."

"You'd better not." Serana buried her hands in Meraxes short, fine hair. They'd been through hell and back together.

Was it selfish for Serana to love the Dragonborn?

The words danced on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't let herself say them.

So, they held each other through the night—each a firework with a wet fuse—mourning and exhausted until the daylight never came.

**Zira's** vision blurred when she awoke. She wondered who had the talent and the gall to poison her until she saw the faint outline of the blonde woman she'd grown all-too-familiar with:

Astrid.

"What do you want this time?" Zira asked, her tone far more disappointed than it was spiteful.

"Nothing," Astrid laughed, "But I don't need you to kill the little Dragonborn anymore. In case you haven't noticed, so many people want her dead that she'll probably be gone in days. So I have a _much_ more important contract for you."

Astrid grinned menacingly, and for the first time since Zira met her, she was afraid.

"What is it?" Zira had no choice but to ask.

Since she joined the Dark Brotherhood, Astrid had become the center of her world and livelihood. She was known throughout the organization for making herself the crux of every operation.

So, when Astrid grinned like a snake, Zira doubled blindly back.

She hadn't expected that kind of reaction.

"What, you're not going to tell me about my own contract?" Zira asked flatly. Astrid sure was taking her sweet time.

"Well, if I tell you, you certainly can't inform anyone else." Astrid approached Zira, cupping her chin. "Let's just say..." she trailed off with a partial laugh, "You're already _close_ to your target."

Zira seethed. Was it Serana? Soren?

She felt a pain stab her heart when she remembered it couldn't be Lydia, for she was already dead.

Void rest her poor, innocent soul.

"I won't," Zira agreed hesitantly. "You have my word."

"One of my many loves," Astrid chimed and released Zira's face. "You have the honor of killing Emperor Titus Mede II."

**Serana** couldn't come to terms with wishing Meraxes farewell.

She hugged her dear friend tightly, resting on the crook of her shoulder, until forces unknown tore them apart and set each on their own path.

They were divided, but bound together. Bound by cold strings of tethered fate. Bound by the raging tides of circumstance.

Bound by a warm and radiant love.

But Serana made her way to back to the College with Mirabelle and Ancano instead of following Meraxes to Sky Haven Temple.

It didn't matter what Serana wanted.

She couldn't afford to obey her heart and instead obeyed her head and the Emperor's whims.

So, as they exited the carriage that carried them across Skyrim's northern region, Serana did her best to wear a brave face.

"This is Saarthal," Mirabelle explained to her. "We're supposed to meet Tolfdir here to excavate. He found a giant source of magical energy here."

Serana narrowed her eyes. "Don't tell me—"

"Yes," Mirabelle confirmed her theory. "It could be a substitute for the sun. But it could also be incredibly dangerous."  


"Concentrated magical energy in a single area is _always_ dangerous," Ancano replied with a smile.  


Why did he seem _happy?_  


Serana narrowed her eyes. She found Ancano suspicious at best.  


"Who is Tolfdir, anyway?"  


As she spoke, an elderly man emerged from the entrance of Saarthal.  


"There he is," said Mirabelle. "Ask him yourself."  


"I am the College's Alteration Professor," Tolfdir said calmly. The way age made his face sink almost reminded Serana of Kodlak. "And I am charged by Emperor Titus Mede II with the excavation of Saarthal. I trust the three of you will assist me?"

Serana nodded. She'd do anything to put the sun in the sky; to see Meraxes again.  


Perhaps she would attempt a letter to her later.  


They passed through Saarthal without much difficulty. Mirabelle, Ancano, and Tolfdir seemed impressed with Serana's combat magic abilities, which certainly disposed of most of the draugr they encountered.  


But they stopped when the feeling of radiating, magical energy grew so strong it was difficult to fight.  


It nearly put Ancano and Mirabelle in a trance.  


"It must be close, whatever it is," Tolfdir said and furrowed his brow. "I don't like the feeling I'm getting from it."  


"Neither do I," Serana agreed.  


She wasn't sure what lied on the other side of the door she approached, or how _much_ magical energy it held, exactly.  


But she could sense something terribly wicked coming her way.  


**Meraxes** emerged into Sky Haven Temple covered in blood.

She'd encountered a rogue band of feral vampires and a motherload of Forsworn on the way there, so she didn't show up looking her best.

Esbern was still amazed such an intimidating, rude woman was supposedly Nirn's savior. She wasn't even one-hundred percent Nord.

"Aludin's wall should be there," Delphine said from behind her.

She growled, _"Shut up,"_ and continued through the corridor without another word.

For the first time on her quest, Meraxes wasn't underwhelmed. The wall was amazing, well-sculpted, and imposing.

It was decorated with an intricate carving of Aludin himself.

"So this...is Alduin's wall."

Delphine and Esbern emerged from her flanks, examining the Dovahzul scrawling on it with a torch.

"I never imagined I'd see this in person..." He stroked part of the wall with a shaky hand.

"Esbern," Meraxes started. Now, he'd gone and gotten her all excited! "You're _not_ supposed to touch things in a dungeon."

"You sound like you've learned it the hard way." Delphine held up the torch to examine the magnificent sculpture of Alduin.

Meraxes snorted. She wasn't about to admit her follies in front of Delphine, of all people.   


She looked down at the cut she had to make to enter the room, the thing still bleeding with every pulse.  


She hadn't been happy about having to do that.  


"This is the story of Alduin's rule," Esbern explained, "And of the human rebellion made by the Dragonborn and those with the ability to access Thu'um. I'm afraid, though..."  


Delphine looked worried as Esbern trailed off.  


"...That this is the only shout that will defeat Alduin. Which means he _can_ be defeated." Esbern turned to the others. "But there is one problem."  


"What is it?" Delphine asked, her eyebrows knit together.  


"None of us will be able to read this unless we go back in time."  


Meraxes gritted her teeth. "Well, how the hell can we do that?"  


Delphine and Esbern exchanged a look.  


"You're not going to like this, Delphine," he warned, then rested his hand on Meraxes' bloody shoulder.  


"I already know what you're thinking, Esbern."  


Esbern nodded.  


"Paarthurnax."  


**Soren** didn't know what was worse: the fact that he couldn't see any of his friends, or the fact that he couldn't play his music.

Prison was a bust. He didn't like it either way.

"So, kid, where are you from?" Orthjolf asked him.

Soren was surprised when he did; he seemed like a gruff man. Almost like Thorald.

"Whiterun."

"Ah, a Skyrim native," Orthjolf observed and chucked a pebble at the wall. "Just like me. Not Vingalmo, though. He's from Summerset Isle."

Luckily, Soren had paid attention to his history lessons. "That's where Altmer come from, right?"

"Yes," Vingalmo spat and crossed his arms. He was far too annoyed by the little brat to care for their conversation.

"I have a question for you, if you don't mind," Soren said.

"Sure, kid. Just leave recent events out of it."

Soren nodded meekly. "What were your mothers like?"

At that question, Vingalmo laughed. Soren frowned at his jerkish display.

"I'm serious," Soren said, "I don't remember much of my mother. She carried me around the Whiterun marketplace a lot. We played with marbles and she sang to me. But she left when I was too young to remember."

"Oh." Vingalmo deadpanned. "The whelp _meant_ it." He turned his chin up. "Well, if you _must_ know, I hardly remember my mother, either. There comes a time when we vampires are simply too old to maintain memories the way mortals do."

"I still remember my mother," Orthjolf replied, "She was a great person. Was really sad when I became a vampire, though, even though it meant I'd never die. But it turns out it's still hard for a son to outlive his mother even though nobody ever wants a mother to outlive her son."

"Ah," Soren said sadly. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Orthjolf shrugged, narrowed his eyes at Vingalmo, and turned back to Soren. "Vingalmo has been a bit salty lately. He lost his arm. Defending me, no less." Orthjolf stared at the cell wall. "He's a miscreant, but he's also the only friend I have anymore."

"Ah, yes," Vingalmo sighed. "Perhaps you can join this fool and I in our collective loneliness. It's all we'll come to know for some time."

He smiled—not at all snakeishly—and looked out the cell window.

**_"Lok_** _vah koor!"_

_[Sky, Spring, Summer]  
_

Arngeir nodded and lowered his head. "Excellent work, Dragonborn. Now, you can progress to the very top of the mountain."

Giving her a gruff smile, Arngeir whisked Meraxes away and on to meet the Greybeards' master.

She used the shout to clear some of the clouds above. Despite their innocent appearance, Meraxes found they made it significantly harder to breathe on the Throat of the World.

She was glad to be able to dispel them.

Almost as glad as she would be if she could see.

It was so dark at the top of the mountain that Meraxes could have easily lost her footing and plummeted off the top. That fact alone scared her, but not as much as the feeling that rose within her gut.

There was a dragon nearby.

"Drem yol lok, Dovahkiin."

_[Hello, Dragonborn]_

Meraxes unsheathed Kindred and quickly turned around.

"Where are you?" she asked, her voice charged with threatening malice. She quickly drove Kindred into the snow, pretending to strike a torch.

And then she spoke.

**_"Yol toor!"_**

 **** _[Fire, Inferno]  
_

_"Tin, tin, tin..."  
_

She growled when she heard the dragon laugh, jumping back when she saw his scaly face light up right beside her head.

_"Woah!"_

"Zu'u koraav fin yol su'um Thu'um hi mindok. I see you know the fire-breathing Thu'um."

"What the _hell?"_ Meraxes asked loudly. She did a double take, stepping back to retrieve and wield her greatsword. Who was this dragon? How did he know Common? "Why aren't you trying to kill me? That's what dragons do!"

"Zu'u los Parthurnaax. I am Parthurnaax. Fod hi lann, Zu'u fin praan do fin yol su'um Thu'um. I can teach you the rest of the fire-breathing Thu'um."

"Thanks." Meraxes brushed herself off and sneered. "But I don't accept lessons from sketchy dragons who can speak my language. I'm just here to learn how to defeat Alduin."

"Aludin..." Parthurnaax trailed off and moved his great neck, almost looking pensive for a moment. And here Meraxes thought dragons couldn't think. "Zu'u los ont fin vahzah haal do Alduin. I was once Alduin's minion. His right wing. Nuz Aludin los vokul. Alduin was corrupted. He believed humans should be slaves, nothing more than tools for his own use." When Paarthurnax turned to Meraxes once more, she did her best not to reel immediately backward. "Ko tiid, Zu'u mindol nii los folaas. I came to disagree with him over time."

"So you're Paarthurnax?" Meraxes narrowed her eyes skeptically. "And you're a _dragon?"_

Paarthurnax exhaled loudly. It almost seemed like a sigh, if Meraxes didn't know better.

"Yes, Dovahkiin. Zu'u los Dovah. And, for all you wish to learn, I am here to teach you. Aan Thu'um daar viik Alduin til los. There is a Th'um that can help you defeat Alduin, but it was created by mortals. Hin zah. And these mortals—they had no concept of mortality. Their Thu'um was fragile."

Meraxes merely blinked at Paarthurnax.  


She had a lot to process that day.  


"If it'll help me defeat Alduin, I'll need to know it. So how do I learn it?"  


Paarthurnax shook his massive head. "Dovahkiin, hi fen bo wah wuth. You must go back in time."  


Meraxes facepalmed, sighing pointedly. "Paarthurnax, going back in time is _impossible._ I said the same, damn thing to Esbern." She muttered under her breath, _"All of you are crazy. And you're a dragon. What the fuck am I doing up here?"_  


"Most Dovahkiin I have met are quick to process that Zu'u los Dovah," Parthurnaax said, clearly disappointed in Meraxes. "Zu'u nid dreh fin Thu'um. I do not know the shout, but I know of a way you can learn it."  


"Spit it out, dragon," Meraxes demanded sharply as if Paarthurnax couldn't swoop down and kill her with a single bite.  


"Hi fen laan fin kel do Dovah. You will need the Elder Scroll."  


**Loneliness** was unfeeling and cold.

Meraxes had expected as much whether Serana was permitted to come with her or not, for some time ago, she was certain she'd drop her off at Castle Volkihar and never hear from her again.

That certainly wasn't what happened.  


Instead, Meraxes found herself closer to Serana than she thought she'd be with anyone.  


Some of the weight of the world seemed to fall off her shoulders when she spoke to the vampire. But, when Meraxes looked around Vilemyr inn, she was nowhere to be found.  


So Meraxes instead stared at her reflection in a tankard of honey mead and pondered on how mad Serana would be at her when she found out she'd been drinking.  


And the bard began to sing.  


_"Alduin's wings, they did darken the sky._  
_ His roar fury's fire, and his scales sharpened scythes.  
Men ran and they cowered, and fought and they died.  
They burned and they bled as they issued their cries.  
We need sav—"_

"Talos _fuck all,"_ Meraxes cursed and sent her tankard hurling at the bard, who stopped playing when he became soaked in mead.

Then, she stood up and promptly headed to her room.

Meraxes was tired and pissed and exasperated. First, she got her housecarl killed, and then she couldn't avoid going back to Castle Dour to rip Zira's scroll away before completing her quest. What was the Emperor going to say when she came back empty-handed?

It wasn't like Serana or Kodlak were there to reassure her.

Suddenly, Meraxes' old ways all came flooding back. She couldn't stop herself from drinking anymore. And, with each drink she took in, she felt sadder and sadder.

Until she finally cried.

Meraxes wept silently and with the door locked. Her tears dropped onto the floor and she was all alone to process them; left to her own devices to finally feel what she'd experienced throughout her tumultuous journey.

_Pathetic,_ she thought to herself, _Am I truly the Dragonborn Nirn deserves?_

 __ Meraxes was convinced she wasn't.

As she cried herself to sleep in the early hours of the morning—haunted and still in shock over her responsibility to the world—the daylight failed to creep through the window and brighten her pitch-black room.

She was almost certain she'd never see the light of another day.

_Serana,_ she prayed inwardly, _Be safe for me, you stupid vampire._  


_**"Hold,** mage, and listen well."_

Serana halted in her tracks when she heard a voice call her from somewhere above. She looked up and was met with nothing.

Then, a man appeared before her, dressed in a long-sleeved robe.

_"Know that you have set in motion a chain of events that cannot be stopped."_

"What do you mean—"

_"Judgement has not been passed, as you had no way of knowing. Judgement will be passed on your actions to come and how you deal with the dangers ahead of you. This warning is being passed to you because the Psijc Order believes in you."_  


"The _who?"_  


The man continued as if he hadn't heard Serana at all.   


_"You, mage, and you alone, have the potential to prevent disaster. Take great care and know the Order is watching."  
_

Serana made a mental note to read on the Psijc order later. She was unsure why exactly she saw what had just come to pass, especially when she turned to Tolfdir, who was confused as if he didn't share Serana's vision.  


"Serana, are you alright?" Tolfdir asked, "You look like you just saw a ghost."  


Ancano took a different approach.

"What happened?" he demanded, but Tolfdir put his hand up to silence him.  


"Something about..." Serana trailed off and scratched her head. She was utterly confused as to why the others hadn't shared her sight, and frankly couldn't fathom how the Order managed to isolate her. "The Psijc order. Do you know anything about them, Tolfdir?"  


Tolfdir combed his beard with his fingers. "Are you sure? That doesn't make any sense...the Psijc Order has no connection at all to these ruins, and no one's seen them in a long time."  


"I'm as sure as I've ever been." Serana's eyes burned brightly. If Tolfdir thought she was unreliable, then he was mistaken.  


"Why would they contact someone like me?"  


Serana couldn't help but wonder if it had to do with her vampirism, or perhaps the fact that she used to study at the College of Winterhold. She was a student then and a loyal companion to the last Dragonborn now. Surely, the Psijc Order put two and two together.  


"I don't know, but I'll admit it's fascinating. Assuming it's true."  


At that, Serana's brow furrowed. She was anything but a liar.  


"No one has seem them for a hundred years." Suddenly, Tolfdir looked excited. "Why, if anything, I'd consider it a compliment! The Psijcs only deal with those they deem worthy."  


"Well, what did I do?" Serana asked, "To become worthy?"  


Mirabelle shook her head. "I don't know. But, from the second I met you back when you arrived with Delphine, Meraxes, and Soren, I easily fathomed you were the best mage of the bunch. You have so much magical power."  


Ancano turned to Serana, his lips twisting upward in envy. He looked like he wanted to speak but didn't say a word.  


The four continued through Saarthal instead.  


When they passed through the next opening, Serana heard her mortal companions' pulse picking up as they located a shining orb in the center of the room.  


It was massive and radiated raw power.  


"There it is," Ancano said, the orb reflecting brightly in his eyes. "The source of the energy."  


"Yes," Mirabelle agreed.  


"We must be careful," said Tolfdir. "I never would have imagined something like this would be buried so far into Saarthal. There must be a reason for that."  


Before Serana could concur, a draugr came charging at them with a brandished war axe. Serana promptly sent an ice spike through his chest. Tolfdir splattered him with streaks of electricity, searing him with his lightning.  


Serana watched Tolfdir fight. It was clear it'd been a while since he'd seen conflict, but aided by Serana's ice and Mirabelle and Ancano's fire, he held his own well enough.  


The draugr collapsed not long after. Soon, the barrier sheltering the orb followed.

It sat, naked and raw, in the center of the room. The object radiated so much energy Serana worried it might explode.

Tolfdir swallowed his amazement.

"We need to notify Savos immediately."

**From** her quarters, Serana could hear Savos' reaction to Tolfdir's disturbance.

_"Dammit, Tolfdir. Don't tell me another one of the Apprentices has been incinerated—"_

She tried not to listen to it and instead focused on Meraxes' Thalmor bounty, which she'd held onto because it was the only good likeness of her dear friend around.  


Serana missed her more than she'd care to admit.  


Of course, now that she was back at the College, she could try her hand at writing a letter.  


So she pulled her ink and quill from her drawer. Then, she began scrawling on some parchment that had been left on her desk.  


_ Dear ~~est~~ Meraxes, _

_ _ Serana slumped back in her seat.  


Why was writing the letter so difficult? She hadn't expected to overthink it so much.  


Hell, it was going to Meraxes! That stubborn ass didn't examine a single detail enough for Serana to be concerned!  


_ Dear Meraxes, _

_ Things have been fine at the College of Winterhold. I don't know where you are, but I trust this letter will find you well. ~~I don't believe I've adequately explained my feelings toward you, nor have I—~~ _

_ Ugh. _ _I am officially the worst at writing letters,_ Serana decided and perched on her bedside. 

She was also far worse at explaining her feelings than she wanted to be.  


It wasn't like she didn't love Meraxes. In fact, Serana loved her so much that it was difficult to contain.  


But Serana didn't feel she was worthy of Meraxes' love in light of all she'd been through, and what was more, she didn't want to risk loving after what happened to her parents.  


She didn't want her relationship with Meraxes to turn out that way.  


_ Dear Meraxes, _

_ Things have been fine at the College of Winterhold. I don't know where you are, but I trust this letter will find you well. I just wanted you to know that I'm alright. Please tell me you're safe. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Serana. _

Serana sighed. Her letter wasn't a work of art, but it would have to do.  


She wanted to know Meraxes was safe. Hell, for all Serana knew, she could be drowning in alcohol again...  


...she could even be dead.

Serana shook her head at the thought.  


Meraxes _had_ to be okay—all of Nirn depended on her.  


Serana was slow to drift off to sleep, not having her dear friend around to chase her nightmares away. But sleep found her regardless.

And she dreamt of Meraxes' smile.

**Scamps** powdered their periwigs with ash to prepare for their Master’s arrival. They anxiously awaited another Tournament of Treachery, their time to engage in all sorts of debauchery involving Molag Bal’s failed followers.  


They screeched when they heard heavy footsteps approaching.  


No doubt it was their Master.  


The scamps bowed low as Molag Bal approached them, some whimpering in reverence of their creator-god. Lamae watched from the sidelines.  


Molag Bal never ceased to disgust her with his tyrannical games. But, each time he wanted to play one, she knew she was powerless as far as stopping him.  


“I see you all have prepared,” Molag Bal mused. His voice was deep and deceivingly kind. “I’m so very proud of you, my creations.” He caressed a scamp’s ear, placing the periwig askew on his head. “Look at you. Now, you’re ready to send my creatures to the Tournament.”  


The scamp screeched in response, looking proud in his little wig.  


Molag Bal laughed.  


Lamae was terrified of what was to come, but she’d done her best to warn Soren.  


She only hoped he was prepared.  


Molag Bal gazed up at the black sky and grinned at the Necromancer’s Moon as it crossed through the Serpent constellation.  


“Now, let the games begin.” He turned to Lamae. “Shall we?”  


Lamae swallowed hard.

“We shall.”

* * *

**End of Chapter 2.**

**Next:** Soren is brought back to a familiar place. Meraxes and Zira meet up. Serana hits the books.

 **Warning:** Chapter 3 contains sexual themes and themes of alcohol abuse. Be advised.


	3. Tale of the Tongues

**Meraxes** squeezed the hand of the prostitute she'd hired the night before with the Emperor's money.

The woman woke with a frustrated look on her face. She quickly donned a robe, evidently tired of being so naked, and walked out the door with a massive pouch of gold.

She was pretty. Of Reguard descent, too.

_"Oy, Serana,"_ she said as the escort started away—

—and then realized she wasn't Serana at all.

Not even close.  


"Shit," Meraxes cursed and quickly propped herself up in bed. Her cheeks flushed a bright, frustrated red as she swung her prosthetic leg over the bedside.  


She really thought, for a moment, that she'd slept with Serana.  


She didn't even catch the prostitute's name.  


_I'm a horrible person._ Meraxes brought her hand through her face, sighing through her fingertips. _Nirn deserves a better Dragonborn._ She looked through the mirror and examined her scars. Bright and frigid blue eyes stared back at her. _Serana deserves a better woman._  


Bending down to drink the remainder of her warm, flat ale from the night before, Meraxes started out the door and stared at the inkeeper for a moment. Part of her wanted to apologize for her room being such a mess.  


She knew Serana would have.  


Instead, she went to the local stable and hired a carriage to Solitude.  


The driver was shaky-handed and lanky, perfectly unsuited to the terrors that lurked all over Tamriel's uncertain darkness. Meraxes didn't mind.  


She spent tens of minutes fighting off groups of feral vampires or scaring them away with torch fire before she finally arrived to Solitude.  


Then, she tipped the driver well with money that wasn't her own, not bothering to catch the quizzical look he gave her when he received a bag of gold so heavy he almost had to lean over to carry it.

Things were quiet when she made her way to Castle Dour.  


People stopped what they were doing to stare at Meraxes, at least until she shot menacing looks back. It was like she was a tool to be used, not a human being.  


She hated that.  


She hated her fate. She hated Akatosh for making her the Dragonborn.  


She hated that Lydia and Kodlak were gone.  


Most of all, she hated that Serana couldn't be there to guide her through her most trying times.  


And she hated herself.  


Grumbling, Meraxes entered Castle Dour and made her way up to Zira's quarters. She knocked twice on the door.  


_"Who is it this time?"_ Zira sighed from the other side.  


"Meraxes."  


Slowly, the door cracked open and Zira poked her head into the hallway.  


She frowned.  


"What is it?"  


"You know that Elder Scroll you've been carrying around?"  


As Meraxes questioned her, Zira thought about her assigned contracts. Things were an utter disaster in Tamriel, to say the least. Now was not a good time to murder the Dragonborn. But some part of Zira still wanted to. Striking her down then would have been _so_ easy.  


"Hey, Zira." Meraxes snapped her fingers. "Why the fuck are you looking at me like that?"  


It was the way a predator scrutinized its prey: cold, calculating, and unceremonious.  


Zira shook her head. "What way?" She crossed her arms. "I'm guessing you need the scroll, Meraxes?"  


"Yes."  


"I was hoping to sell it," Zira said calmly. She gestured to Meraxes' big bags of gold from the Emperor, clearly wanting a decent share.  


"Talos be damned, Zira. You're too much like me." Meraxes seethed and shoved a giant coin purse into her chest.  


In exchange, Zira unstrapped the scroll from her shoulder and gave it to her.  


"Thanks. That was surprisingly easy."  


Zira stared at Meraxes, her gaze growing colder by the second.

"Yes." Her eyes narrowed when Meraxes shut the door. "It was."  


"What are you still doing here?" Meraxes heard a male voice inquire from behind her.  


She turned around, seeing Emperor Titus Mede II with his arms folded over his robe.  


"Looking for Ms. Volkihar?" he said plainly, "She's already at the College of Winterhold. I received a raven about a large source of magical energy they discovered in Saarthal. It seems their research has truly begun."  


"I didn't ask," Meraxes replied, her voice flat.  


The Emperor pointed to her coin pouches.  


"I see you're already near out of the first share I gave you."  


When she thought about the prostitute she spent it on a few days past, Meraxes' face reddened.  


"I trust you're using it well."  


Meraxes swallowed.

"Yes."  


"So you're _not_ looking for Ms. Volkihar?"  


Shaking her head, Meraxes pointed to the Elder Scroll on her back.  


"I take it you need that for your quest. I must say I'm surprised that you're going through with all of this."  


"What do you mean?" Meraxes narrowed her eyes.  


Titus seated himself by the Castle Dour window.  


"You are the Dragonborn," he said in a voice so low it almost seemed he was talking to himself. "There is no denying that anymore. But not everyone would rise to protect Tamriel. Not everyone is a hero."  Flashing Meraxes a smile that looked like it was carved from stone in his aging face, Titus continued, "But _you_ have the potential to be one. There are songs about you, Meraxes. And many stories. You are the Dragonborn we needed."  


Meraxes snorted. She thought Titus Mede II was wrong on all accounts and still harbored ill will for the man who sentenced her father to die.  


She finally asked, "Why did you do it?"  


"Do what?" Titus replied skeptically.  


"Kill my father."  


Titus mumbled something indiscernable. If Meraxes didn't know better, she'd have thought it was an apology.  


"I was still young then." He met Meraxes' steely eyes. "That doesn't excuse my actions, of course. But I intended to use your father as an example. Betray the Empire and you die." Sighing deeply, he at last unfolded his hands to grip the window sill. "I needed someone to die so the Thalmor would still fear the Empire. Without your father's sacrifice, they could have usurped the throne."  


"I wouldn't call it a sacrifice." Meraxes' fists balled up as her anger simmered. "He wasn't willing. He left a _family_ behind."  


The Emperor nodded. "So, he did. Such is the course of life."  


"A course that you ended for your own, selfish reasons."  


"So it seems. But that's not at all what I intended," Titus said, "You must understand. Your father saved the Empire." He looked at Meraxes once again, taking in the sight of the last Dragonborn. "And so will you."

**"It's** good to see you again, Urag."

Serana filed through books, hoping to find something on the mysterious orb she and the others unearthed in Saarthal. But she flipped through them fruitlessly and there were so many to check.

She'd found that they were well-sorted and stopped to look at the histories and romances, but neither was what she needed.

Or so she thought.

Serana stopped exploring when she at last found _The Augur of Dunlain_ , a tale about a man who became nothing but the essence of himself when he chose to use a magical orb called the Eye of Magnus.

Was that the true name of the mysterious artifact she found at Saarthal?  


_The book says the Augur of Dunlain is in the College,_ Serana thought and flipped the page. _But where would I find him?_  


"You sure have looked at a lot of these books, Serana," Urag said from his desk and slowly reached his feet. "Did you find anything you're looking for, or can I help you?"  


Serana's expression hardened as she tucked the book beneath her arm.  


"The Augur of Dunlain."  


"Ah, yes," Urag began, "The book about the Eye of Magnus. It's captivating, isn't it?" His smile faded. "Wait, do you think that could be—"  


"The orb from Saarthal? Yes."  


Urag swallowed hard and began pacing about his desk. "Oh, no. This is bad." He sunk his fingers into his long dreadlocks.  


Serana watched his panic through startled eyes, having never seen Urag so paranoid.  


"Why is it bad?"  


Urag stopped to look at her. "If another mage gets carried away with the Eye of Magnus, it could be a terrible disaster. The thing is _way_ too powerful for mortal use."  


Serana brought her hands to her hips. "I'm not mortal."  


As he retreated a step, Urag's panicked face grew even more fearful at Serana's words. "You're not planning to use it, are you?"  


"Absolutely not." Serana shook her head. "But I can't help but wonder if the Eye of Magnus has anything to do with the sun."  


Sighing, Urag stroked his beard. "You could be onto something. The sun as we knew it was a creation of Magnus'. A source of magic for men and mer alike."

"That's why I need to find the Augur of Dunlain. Can you help me?"  


Urag considered for a moment, his brows furrowing. "I'm really not supposed to..." he grumbled to himself as he met Serana's brimstone eyes. "But this is life-or-death. I'll take you to the Augur of Dunlain," he finally decided. "Follow me."

When the librarian started toward the Hall of Countenance, he was immediately stopped by a man in Thalmor robes.  


"Ancano," he said, his tone dropping, "What are you doing? Serana and I are investigating the orb we found at Saarthal. It's imperative we continue."  


"Oh, yes," Ancano replied, "I'll let you resume shortly." He turned to Serana wearing a serpentine half-smile. "There's someone who wants to speak with you. He's in Savos' quarters."  


Unsure whether or not to believe him, Serana let her brow furrow.  


She didn't like Ancano. She remembered Meraxes' trouble with the Thalmor, and, what was more, Ancano seemed far too interested in the Eye of Magnus.  


She thought it would benefit him to see how the Augur of Dunlain turned out.  


Changing tack, she decided to go to the Archmage's quarters to see the mysterious visitor that awaited her. She didn't think Ancano had a reason to lie.  


"There you are," said an elusive man dressed in robes she was sure she'd never seen before. "Serana."  


Then, time seemed to freeze around her. Urag had been following her but looked like nothing more than a statue as the man spoke.  


Ancano had even stopped his pointless jabbering.  


"I am Quaranir and I am here to warn you."  


Quaranir wore a serious expression; one that couldn't be bothered with trifles or shadows of problems. Serana knew then that he'd come to confer with her about a very serious matter.  


"I see you've already come to the conclusion that the orb in your possession is the Eye of Magnus. It is imperative that no one uses the Eye. It's incredibly dangerous and powerful."  


Serana was well-acquainted with the types of people who enjoyed dangerous, powerful things.  


Her father was that way.  


It was more than possible that someone sought to use the Eye of Magnus for their own purposes.  


"I understand," said Serana, "But how could I stop that from happening?"  


A nervous smile crept its way onto Quaranir's face.   


"You can't."  


With that, he disappeared, and time resumed its standard course.  


**Urag** entered a trap door and descended a staircase into The Midden.

"The book says the Augur is still in the College, correct? My guess is that he'd be down here."

"You're very smart, Urag," Serana agreed, nodding.

"And you took down those spiders and wraiths expertly. I'm nothing but a humble librarian, but you are quite talented at Destruction magic. I wasn't even aware you'd studied anything relating to the school during your time here."

As she climbed down the stairs, Serana narrowed her eyes and gazed at Urag.

"You know about my enrollment at the College?"

"Yes," Urag said, "I keep the College records. They indicate you were a student of Necromancy back when we still had the school."

"Your records are correct."

Urag stopped when he reached the bottom of the stairs, straightening his dreadlocks. "If you don't mind my asking, why did the school of Necromancy close the year you were supposed to graduate? I've always wondered why it's illegal now."

Serana shook her head. "I appreciate you helping me, Urag. But you don't need to know."

"Oh," said Urag, "Well, that's okay."

In the near distance, Serana and Urag spotted a faint light.

Urag looked scared.

Serana couldn't blame him. It wasn't every day an adventurer encountered a mere aura of a man who'd messed with a mysterious and powerful artifact beyond his understanding.

Nevertheless, the vampire continued forward.

"Are you the Augur of Dunlain?"

The light grew brighter, illuminating Serana and Urag's faces as well as the corridor they stood within.

_"Yes, I am he. Or, rather, what is left of him."_

 __ Serana stood firm. "Tell me about the Eye of Magnus."

The Augur hummed. _"The eye is incredibly dangerous. It is a powerful artifact that had been sealed away from mankind for an excellent reason. It's a shame it has resurfaced, but you will need it."_

 __ "Why would we need it?" she asked. Urag finally gained the gall to stand beside her.

_"Because it has the amount of energy necessary to fuel magicka. In other words —"_

 __ "It could replace the sun!"

At the premise of putting the sun back into the sky, Serana beamed. That was exactly what she'd come there for. It would solve the feral vampire problem as well as restore balance to Tamriel if she could somehow use it for the right reasons.

_"Yes, if you use the last Dragonborn, you can place it in the sky. There is no way you can do it on your own. But I must caution you about two things: one, there is a Thu'um, ancient and powerful, the secret of which is hidden in the Elder Scroll of Sun. The second is that you will need the Staff of Magnus to defend against anyone who wishes to use the Eye for malicious purposes. It is the Eye's counterpart designed to balance its power."_

 __ "Where can we find this staff? And what does Meraxes _—_ I mean, the last Dragonborn _—_ have to do with the Eye?"

_"The last Dragonborn can shout the Eye into the sky when it is prepared to use with the Thu'um found in the Sun scroll. As for the staff..."_

Serana could feel the Augur's fear as he continued, _"...you can find it in the Labyrinthian."_  


"What is the Labyrinthian?"  


Serana had no idea what she was getting herself into. From the Augur's tone alone, she could tell it was a dastardly place.  


She wished she had Meraxes to accompany her. She'd have felt much safer.  


_"It is a place unlike any other. A maze filled with trials and magical traps...no one has survived it."_  


"Well," Serana chuffed pointedly, _"That's_ great news."  


_"Good luck, great mage,"_ the Augur said respectfully, _"I bid you a safe journey."_  


Mesmerized, Urag waved goodbye as the Augur continued down the corridor.  


Serana started promptly up the stairs.  


She had a Labryinth to visit.  


**Meraxes** breathed deeply as she ascended the Throat of the World yet again. She was growing awfully tired of the shitty weather, the terrible climb, the Greybeards, and their dragon master.

In fact, she'd still hardly processed that Paarthurnax wasn't human.

She had the Elder Scroll this time, which Paarthurnax had instructed her to read at the Time Wound on the top of the mountain. But Meraxes was concerned with the effect the scroll would have on her.

Would she go blind the way she did last time? If so, no one was there to catch her or carry her to safety.

She'd freeze to death or fall off the edge of the mountain.

Continuing up the path, Meraxes slowed down when she saw Paarthurnax lower his head in greeting. The dragon beat his mighty wings.

"Drem yol lok. Hello, Dovahkiin. Zu'u koraav hi lost fin kel. You have the Elder Scroll, I see."

"Yes," said Meraxes, "So what do I do now? Do I just read it?"

"Kriist nau fin Tiid Ahraan hi fen. You must stand on the Time Wound, Dovahkiin."

Meraxes crossed her arms. "How do I know where the Time Wound is?"

Lowering himself to the snow beneath his wall, Paarthurnax gestured to the general area with his massive head.

"Feel it in your heart. Ko hin miin do hahdrim, koraav nii. See it in your mind's eye."

As if on cue, Meraxes felt a pulsing in her chest she knew well wasn't her heartbeat. It was a feeling of deep attraction to something; to what, Meraxes didn't know. But she found herself gravitating toward a particular slope on the mountain.

Two figures flashed before her eyes.

Alduin roared.

And Meraxes opened the Elder Scroll.

She watched as Alduin landed to slay the Tongues—as the Tongues fought back—as they shouted him further in time. Because of them, Alduin was Meraxes' problem.

She felt the power of the shout.  


Dragonrend.  


_Joor zah frul_

_[Mortal, finite, temporary]  
_

Then, she heard the wing beats of a dragon and a deafening roar—  


—and she looked up to see Alduin with his razor teeth bared.

She hadn't even had time to properly learn the shout, and there he was! Could she slay him now?  


Would she die trying? She didn't know, but she felt the word escape her lungs:  


**_"Joor!"_**  


But it wasn't enough to bring him down.  


It only weakened him enough so Paarthurnax could latch onto his wing with his mighty teeth, leaving a tear in the fabric of his webs. Alduin fought back, carving into Paarthurnax's abdomen with his claws.  


They cut straight through his scales.

Horrified, Meraxes looked on as the two dragons battled. She felt frozen in place, like she couldn't do anything at all.  


Like she was stuck on the Time Wound.  


She felt doubt fill her mind. Was she, who stood idly on the battlefield against the foe she was supposed to slay, truly the Dragonborn Tamriel needed? Could she really strike Alduin down, even with Paarthurnax's help?  


No. She was useless. She was going to die.  


In a flash, Kodlak crossed Meraxes' mind. She wondered if she'd reunite with him today.  


_"You must not die until you are ready."  
_

Meraxes remembered what Akatosh told her.  


Deep down, she knew he was right, but she just felt so helpless.  


So alone.  


So unprepared.  


Alduin roared again and she doubled back, unsheathing Kindred. Clutching the bat on the pommel reminded her of Serana and Soren.

Her family.  


Her chest bubbled with the Words of Power.  


**_"Joor zah!"_**  


Lowering to the ground, Alduin landed, leaving himself open for Meraxes' offensive. She slashed his jaw with her greatsword, laughing fiendishly when his blood soaked her armor and face, matting itself into her hair.  


Paarthurnax struck before Alduin could escape. He landed beside the other dragon, gnashing his teeth and digging into Alduin's middle.  


Alduin let out a distressed cry, lunging forward and catching Meraxes off guard.  


His teeth sunk into her good leg.  


Meraxes screamed as he tore away from her. She fell to the ground, watching Alduin grumble and retreat into the sky.  


The battle was over.

Meraxes and Paarthurnax had won.  


But Meraxes' leg below the knee was gone.  


She laid there, her loss of limb causing her crimson blood to pool into the snow with each pulse of her heart.  


_"Dovahkiin!"_ Paarthurnax cried out. He rushed toward her, hoisting her up gently between his teeth.  


And he took to the sky.  


**"We'll** just have to hope she pulls through," Arngeir said, kneeling by Meraxes' bed. He was lucky Borri was such a good healer.

Otherwise, their last Dragonborn might've died.

Wulfgar nodded and took a seat at the bedside.

Each Greybeard waited for their prodigy to awaken, Arngeir periodically fitting a new prosthetic to her stub of a leg.

Meraxes didn't _have_ legs anymore. She was a startling sight to behold without her wooden prosthetics, and she was still far from wearing the one the Greybeards fashioned for her.

Arngeir feared the World-Eater might emerge victorious if Meraxes couldn't recover in time.

"We have to hope." Arngeir repeated himself.

Meraxes finally stirred.

Tears emerged on her eyelids as she woke, straning to sit up and immediately falling back onto the bed.

What had happened? Why couldn't she get up?

Meraxes felt distressed when she couldn't move, and even more so when she tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed.

She looked down to find her remaining one missing.

_"No..."_

"We're sorry, Dragonborn. We did the best we could. At least we managed to save your life."

Meraxes looked up at Arngeir with tears streaming down her face.

_"How could you let this happen?"_ She snarled and yanked angrily on Arngeir's collar. _"How could you?"_

Arngeir's eyes widened as Meraxes dragged him onto her bed. He certainly hadn't expected that, though he quickly supposed he didn't deserve it.

"Dragonborn, it is not our responsibility to follow you on your journey," Arngeir replied calmly, "But it is our responsibility to ensure you slay the World-Eater. That is why we must properly heal you." His brow furrowed as he gently forced Meraxes back down. "You must take the time necessary to recover from this wound. Until then, we will feed and clothe you."

Meraxes swallowed and sank uncontrollably into the bed.

_"I need Kodlak,"_ she croaked, _"And Serana."_

 __ "I wish we could do that for you," said Arngeir, "But slaying Alduin must remain your first priority."

Grabbing the soup Borri handed him, Arngeir tipped the warm substance into Meraxes' mouth.

"Drink."

Meraxes spit it up on her white tunic, choking. Each vibration of her body felt like torture.

Finally, she asked, "How am I supposed to defeat Alduin with no legs?"

Arngeir sighed.

"You must believe in yourself, Meraxes. All of us believe in you. Your friends you brought to High Hrothgar the last time you visited seem to have placed their faith in you as well."

When she remembered that Lydia was no longer alive, Meraxes winced.

But Serana and Soren believed in her.

Hell, maybe even Zira did.

"But I don't understand. I'm too crippled for this job. I'm getting too old, and I'm expected to do this on my own?" Meraxes hung her head. "There's no way I'm the right person for this fucking job, dammit."

Arngeir shook his head. "Unfortunately, that is not your choice to make. It was Akatosh who made you his Champion. It was he who made you who you are."

Meraxes wiped a tear from her eyes. She wanted more than anything to be somebody else; to live a different life.

She never asked to be the Dragonborn, or to fall in love with Serana, or to relate to Soren.

She never asked to be a hero.

Meraxes felt like throwing up.

She remembered the facets of life that had brought her to this moment: her tumultuous childhood, her time as a mercenary, the Companions, the Civil War, Rikke's horrendous torture directed by the Thalmor, her near-death, and her transformation into a werewolf. Joining the Dawnguard, meeting Serana, discovering she was the Dragonborn...

The _last_ Dragonborn.

Every moment brought her to where she was now, and she was nothing more than a lonely, struggling alcoholic with no legs.

She was even more grisly and hopeless than she was when she met Serana, and everything that the vampire thought she'd turned around came rushing back to bite Meraxes in the ass.

For once, Meraxes worried her future was scarier than her past.

She worried about whether or not she could handle it; about how it would affect her and her new family.

She didn't know what to do or where to begin...

...or when her journey would end.

But something told her it was already over.

**Dust** circled Soren as he awoke, exhausted from a lack of sleep since Orthjolf and Vingalmo couldn't seem to silence themselves for too long.

The last thing he remembered was the shadow of an odd-looking moon.

And he recognized the place where he'd awoke.

He was in Coldharbour.

Beside him, Orthjolf tried to raise his hands only to discover he was bound with silver chains. He quickly realized he and Vingalmo had the same predicament.

Soren tried to squirm, hoping to be freed to no avail.

That was when he saw strange creatures crowd around him, scurrying about wearing wigs far too large for their little heads.

They were repulsive.

But far less repulsive than the towering, demented man who stood in the near distance to survey the scene with his chin turned up.

And he laughed.  


_"Welcome to Coldharbour!"_  


Disturbed, Orthjolf thrashed in his chains. He was horrified; all he wanted was to be free, even if the more he moved, the more the chains burned his arms and legs.  


"Stop it, you oaf," said Vingalmo, "It's useless to resist!"  


"One of you is smart," the man cooed as he paced back and forth. "These creatures you see before you are my scamps. They're here to try you for betraying me."  


_"Betraying_ you?" Vingalmo seethed, his tone charged with malice. "All I did was serve your protege loyally for hundreds of years!"  


In a fraction of a second, the man stood in front of Vingalmo, squeezing his chin with a forceful hand.  


"Yes," he said flatly, "And you _failed."_  


Vingalmo was awestruck. He slunk back into his chains as soon as the man released him.  


"You're Molag Bal..." Soren trailed off, watching Vingalmo retreat with saddening eyes. "Aren't you?"

"That doesn't matter." Molag Bal shook his head. "What matters is whether my scamps think you're guilty or innocent." Stroking one of his scamps' heads, he turned to the ugly creatures with a half-smile. "So, what do you believe, my foul children?"  


All at once, the scamps began to screech. Some even threw rocks at the three vampires carefully bound in chains.  


And Molag Bal _grinned._

_"Guilty."_  


* * *

**End of Chapter 3.**

**Next:** Zira returns to the Dark Brotherhood. Soren, Orthjolf, and Vingalmo make plans. Meraxes works on her recovery.  



	4. Dark Anchors

**"What** would you have me do?"

Zira leaned against the wall, watching Astrid pace back and forth. She knew the contract to kill Emperor Titus Mede II wasn't a small one, nor would its fulfillment be easy. But she was ready for the challenge. It wasn't often things were too difficult for Zira anymore, and the Emperor had overlooked incidents of mass enslavement in Solstheim for decades.

He didn't care about the demise her family met to those masked cultists. He didn't care about her livelihood.

When Astrid handed her a bottle of an unknown substance, Zira gritted her teeth. Even through the bottle, the stuff had the most biting scent she'd ever smelled.

"What is it?"

"Jarin Root powder," Astrid replied with a grin. "It's the deadliest substance known to man. Mix it up with Ninroot and it becomes even more dangerous."

Zira moved the bottle around in her hand, watching the powder rise and fall with each twist of her hand.

"By chance, have you heard of the Gourmet?" Astrid asked.

Zira nodded, saying, "Yes, the famous chef? I have his cookbook." Her expression flattened. "Why?"

"Because he's coming to cook for the Emperor."

"Let me guess," Zira surmised, "You want me to put the Jarin Root powder in his food?"

Astrid laughed.

"He'll be dead in seconds!"

Zira scratched her head.

"How am I supposed to accomplish that?" she asked thoughtfully. It was near impossible to sneak into the Castle Dour kitchen, and it would be even more difficult with a renowned chef present. "The Emperor's Council already knows I'm an associate of Meraxes'. They wouldn't take kindly to seeing me snoop in the kitchen.

"Lucky for you, I've already considered that." Astrid turned her chin up and leaned against the opposite wall. "You'll enter when everyone's asleep and add it to the carrot mix." She shrugged. "Sure, other people who eat the carrots may die, but it's a sacrifice we must be willing to make. You must do it the day before the Gourmet comes so no one is poisoned before the Emperor." Considering her plan, Astrid hummed. "Come to think of it, what will you do regarding Meraxes?"

Zira rolled her eyes. "I already told you. I'm going to kill her after she slays the World-Eater. It won't be difficult, considering she'll be exhausted from the task."

Grinning, Astrid nodded.

"Good."

**Savos** remembered the last time he'd come to the Labryinthian.

He was a brand new Archmage then, and had gone to follow in Shalidor's footsteps. But he was never able to find the Staff of Magnus.

He doubted he'd be able to now.

"Remind me why Serana isn't here," Ancano said and gritted his teeth. Since the Labryinthian was notoriously difficult to traverse, he was especially disappointed and frustrated that Serana wasn't there to aid them. They could have used her help.

"You don't remember the raven she got from High Hrothgar?" Mirabelle continued behind Savos, taking cautious steps through the corridors in case the group encountered more draugr. "Her Dragonborn friend lost a leg."

"Serana's friends with the last Dragonborn?" Ancano asked with a laugh. "Of course she is."

Mirabelle sneered. "How is a loss of limb funny, Ancano?"

"Silence, both of you," Savos ordered. He was exhausted with the spats Ancano and Mirabelle had, and the Labryinthian certainly wasn't the place for them. Especially not when he was unsure whether or not Ancano and Mirabelle's help would actually lead him to the Staff of Magnus.

Ancano opened his mouth to ask yet again why they needed the Staff, but closed it when Savos shot him a glare that said, _Shut up._

Savos continued, "The largest threat in this dungeon is the Dragon Priest Morokei. Years ago, I sealed him away so he may never escape. But he is still alive."

_"That's comforting,"_ Mirabelle muttered beneath her breath.

"And the catch is?" Ancano asked and crossed his arms. He could tell by the way Savos spoke that something sinister was afoot.

Savos sighed. "I have reason to believe Morokei has the Staff."

"So," said Mirabelle, "We're fighting a Dragon Priest."

"Essentially. And he should be behind this door.”

Mirabelle's brow furrowed. "That was fast."

The three were already exhausted from battling various draugr, including the skeleton of a dragon. Mirabelle didn't know if they could take down a Dragon Priest.

"Ready?" asked Savos as he prepared to pull the door open.

"Ready," Mirabelle and Ancano said.

The three wielded their best magic as the door swung wide, greeting Morokei as he rose from the shadows.

_"Drem lo yok, Savos Aren,"_ said Morokei as he leveled the Staff of Magnus in Savos' direction.

While Ancano and Mirabelle busied themselves with taking on Morokei's enthralled wizards, Savos battled the Dragon Priest himself. He shot a fireball at Morokei, resulting in Morokei's doubling back and charging a powerful blast with the staff.

He'd been charging it all that time, waiting for Savos to come back.

He seemed to smile beneath his mask.

And then, he launched a ball of radiant energy at Savos, sending him crashing, unresponsive, toward the ground.

**_"No!"_** Mirabelle screamed as soon as she turned around. She watched Savos sink to the floor, having to cover her mouth with her hand at her astonishment. A growl charged itself in her throat. "You _bastard!"_

Ancano looked on from the sidelines, brandishing an ice spike in his hands.

"Come on, Mirabelle," he said gruffly, "Let's take him down together."

Mirabelle released a furious battle cry, bombarding Morokei with so much Destruction magic it made Ancano's jaw drop. They blasted him together until he collapsed into ash.

The Staff of Magnus dropped beside him.

"I'll get the Staff," Mirabelle said quickly, "You check on the Archmage."

Kneeling beside Savos, Ancano took his pulse. He frowned when he couldn't feel a thing.

"Mirabelle..." Ancano trailed off. He didn't much care for the Archmage, and seeing him fall meant there was one less powerful mage in his way. But something about what had come to pass left a knot in his stomach. "Savos is dead."

**Serana** traveled to High Hrothgar as fast as she could.

Out of breath from practically sprinting up the mountain, Serana barged through the doors of the monastery without knocking, her eyes alight.

Arngeir dropped a plate of sweet rolls Borri had made. It promptly shattered on the floor.

"My, Serana, you startled me," the monk said, his brow furrowing. "What exactly are you doing here?"

"Meraxes sent me a raven. Where is she?"

Arngeir sighed. "I told her that was a bad idea, but it's much like her not to listen to my advice." Knowing he couldn't stop Serana from finding her, he lowered his head. "She's in the west wing." He then met her honeyed eyes. "You must be careful with her. She's...well, she's been better. You are welcome to stay for one day, and then you must go."

"One day is more than enough, Arngeir," Serana replied, "Thank you."

With that, she rushed to the west wing, nearly knocking Wulfgar over on her way there.

She opened the door to the room she'd slept in the night Orthjolf and Vingalmo kidnapped her and found Meraxes asleep in her bed.

Not wanting to disturb Meraxes until she woke, Serana started away.

_"Serana..."_

But she stopped in her tracks when she heard Meraxes' voice. She turned around to meet her steely, blue eyes, which opened groggily.

"Meraxes." Serana seated herself in the chair by Meraxes' bedside. "You're alive. I worried you might be dead."

Releasing a guttural laugh, Meraxes sank back into her sheets.

"You know, it would take a hell of a lot to kill me."

Serana let herself smile. Then, she reached for Meraxes' hand and folded it into her lap. She'd been so anxious about Meraxes' state, especially after learning what had happened on the Throat of the World.

"So, Alduin struck." A stark frown replaced her grin.

Meraxes nodded gravely. "Yes. He did."

"Can I..." Serana trailed off as she considered how Meraxes must have been feeling. She swallowed hard. "...Can I see it?"

Pulling up the sheets, Meraxes revealed the inflamed, reddening stub of a right leg. The left was attached to its usual prosthetic.

"I don't know what to fucking do anymore, Serana," she confessed, "I have no legs and I'm supposed to slay Alduin. That dragon maimed me and flew away without a second thought!"

Serana ran her fingers through Meraxes' golden hair.

"You know I believe in you," she said softly, watching as Meraxes' eyes began to close. Healing must have left her exhausted. "Don't you?"

Nodding, Meraxes gave Serana's hand a squeeze. She stared into Serana's brimstone eyes and lost herself in them for far longer than a few seconds.

"Meraxes," Serana started, "Why are you looking at me that way?"

Meraxes hummed thoughtfully. "Do you want to know how I lost my first leg, Serana?"

Serana looked taken aback.

"Only if you want to tell me."

"Well," Meraxes said, considering the way Serana's expression softened at her words. "It was after I came home from the Civil War."

**Meraxes** waved from the wagon in which she stood by General Tullius, letting herself smile as townsfolk cheered.

With her help, the Imperial Army won the Skyrim Civil War. So many saw her as a hero for taking Ulfric Stormcloak's head.

She held up the dried head from inside the wagon and watched as Clan Battle-Born roared.

_"The Wolf of Whiterun!"_ they cheered loudly, raising toasts in broad daylight. _"She killed the bastard!"_

Meraxes laughed when General Tullius grabbed her hand and hoisted it up to the sky. The townsfolks' cheers grew louder when he flaunted her, showing off the woman who killed Ulfric Stormcloak.

But not everyone was happy about the Imperial victory.

Clan Gray-Mane stood brooding in the shadows as the parade flowed past them. They watched Ulfric Stormcloak's head hang from Meraxes' hand, growls forming in their throats.

She'd killed the man they wanted to become their High King.

Dressed in finery and unarmed, Meraxes looked skeptically at the Gray-Manes. A small boy stared back at her with Void-like eyes, unsure what to make of the situation in which he'd found himself. Meraxes saw scars glinting on his little face.

And then she saw Clan Gray-Mane close in. They circled Meraxes' wagon, General Tullius' guardsmen leveling loaded bows at their heads.

"We don't want any trouble," one of the leaders said.

Avulstein.

"Then back away from the carriage," General Tullius replied sternly. The wrinkles on his aging face gave way to the frustration he'd tried so hard to hide.

"Alright," Avulstein growled and turned his back to the General. Then, he lunged, the guards firing an arrow into his abdomen. He snarled as they slayed members of his clan, dragging Meraxes out of the wagon and sending her tumbling to the ground.

"You _witch,"_ he growled as the General's guards surrounded him. Clearly, he couldn't do anything about General Tullius. But that wouldn't stop him from killing Meraxes. "You _murdered_ him!"

Then, he brought down his sword. Meraxes doubled back as he aimed for her heart, the blade penetrating her leg below the knee and sending her back toward the floor.

The guards then apprehended him. He struggled in their grasp, spitting more insults at the Imperial Army until the Whiterun guards had to drag him forcefully away.

"Legate Whitemane!" General Tullius shouted when Avulstein pulled the blade from her leg. Blood spurted from the wound, forming a massive pool on the cobblestone path. "We need a medic!"

But no one arrived.

Time passed as Meraxes lied on the street, losing her consciousness as Farkas and Vilkas finally came to her rescue.

"You're gonna owe us for this, Shield-Sister," Farkas said as he lifted Meraxes over his shoulder. Blood soaked his hand as he reached to grab her behind the knee. Her leg was severed, hanging by a few threads of sinew and dragging on the dusty ground.

She wasn't going to survive a trip to Dragonsreach to be treated by Farengar Secret-Fire.

Vilkas knew the Companions only had one chance to save her.

"Farkas," he said, nearly out of breath from sprinting up the stairs to the Wind District. "We must take her to the Underforge."

Farkas spun around to debate with his twin, but when he did, he saw the awful trail of blood Meraxes' wound had left behind. It was more than clear, then, that she'd lost far too much of it.

"Will the Circle really Turn her?" he asked as he ascended the steps to Jorrvaskr. "She's only been on one mission with me. I don't think they'll give us permission."

"Well." Vilkas gritted his teeth and opened the secret door to the Underforge. "To keep her alive, we'll simply have to risk it."

Drawing the blade of his greatsword across his hand, Farkas began his painful transformation into the form of a werewolf and held his bleeding palm over the ritual bowl. The substance dripped into it until it was half-full. As Farkas took steps back, clutching his arm as it healed, Vilkas forced a nearly-unconscious Meraxes to consume the blood.

"Farkas," Vilkas whispered, "It looks like the Turning isn't taking."

He knew what that meant.

Meraxes was going to die.

Watching as Meraxes choked on the blood, the substance spilling all over her chest, Farkas sank down onto all fours as Vilkas opened the door for him to exit the Underforge. He'd been a werewolf long enough to control his abilities and Vilkas knew Meraxes would need Aela or Kodlak's assistance to survive.

Soon enough, the Underforge opened again. Farkas and Kodlak came rushing through the door.

"By Ysgramor!" Kodlak cursed and made a hasty incision in his own arm. He shoved it against Meraxes' mouth without hesitation, muttering words Vilkas couldn't discern.

If anyone could help Meraxes survive the transformation, it was Kodlak. His curse came from Hircine himself.

Vilkas gaped as Meraxes collapsed onto the Underforge ground. To his knowledge, she appeared to be dead.

They'd been unsuccessful.

But, just as he turned his shoulder to her, golden hair began to sprout from her arms, the blood spurting from her wound growing thick and dark.

He heard a sharp and deafening roar as she transformed. The first was always the most painful.

_"We did it."_ Vilkas surveyed Kodlak and Farkas' work, hesitating to draw his sword when Meraxes charged out of the Underforge.

The havoc a newly-Turned werewolf could wreak...

...well, it was unparalleled.

**"So** that's how you became..." Serana trailed off, staring at the wall behind Meraxes' bed. She'd spent centuries unable to tell the story of her own Turning. And, yet, Meraxes had enough courage to tell hers. "One of them."

Meraxes was so brave. Serana wished she possessed such a trait, for she knew well that their Turnings had become terrible demons both were forced to combat.

She gave Meraxes' hand a hard squeeze.

Watching as Serana's brimstone gaze grew pensive, Meraxes leaned back in her soft bed.

"What are you thinking?"

Serana looked as if she were entirely in a different place. Like she'd traveled back in time to where Meraxes laid drunk in Dead Man's Drink, or when they danced together on Sun's Rest.

"Oh, it's nothing," Serana replied. Her voice shattered the silence between them, but was still soft and quiet. "I missed you. That's all."

Meraxes thought of how far they'd come. It seemed so long since she'd met Serana in Dimhollow Crypt, and she swore she'd never see the vampire again after she dropped her off at Castle Volkihar. But she was there.

Serana leaned over Meraxes' bedside, holding her hand. Something about Serana's presence made Meraxes feel that, despite the fact she'd lost her leg, she wasn't hurt at all. Like the piece of her soul that limb had fallen from was somehow instantly repaired. Like she was a child again, at home with her mother who made horker stew with meat imported from her homeland.

Serana was just enough to fix her.

She was Meraxes' home and all she'd come to know.

"Did you mean it?" Meraxes asked Serana, causing the latter to cock her head curiously.

"Mean _what,_ Meraxes?"

Meraxes stared at her bedsheets.

"As I was dying, you told me you love me. And I've been thinking about that statement ever since that day."

_"Oh."_ Serana would have blushed were it possible. She released Meraxes' hand, tucking it back onto her chest. "I'd prefer not to discuss that, Meraxes. If you don't mind."

Serana internally scolded herself. She almost wrote Meraxes a full confession of her feelings, but couldn't bear to send it. And now she was presenting herself a coward in front of the woman she'd come to love. It was true that she was still afraid of physical intimacy after her experience with Molag Bal, and even more so that she worried her relationship with Meraxes would become like Valerica and Harkon's.

But those thoughts became excuses the more Serana pondered them.

"How are you feeling?" Meraxes suddenly asked, "After losing your parents?"

Serana's brows knit together. "I'm holding up better than I thought I would. But, still..." she trailed off, sighing. "Regardless of the way they used me, I loved them. Especially mother."

Meraxes snatched Serana's hand again, making Serana nearly gasp in surprise. She hadn't expected her dear friend to be so forceful while injured.

"I couldn't help but ask," Meraxes said, "I remember how I felt after losing my father. Sure, I was a kid. But that didn't make it any easier."

"I'm sure," agreed Serana as she squeezed Meraxes' hand gratefully. Though she'd lost those who raised her, her true family was still ever-present. "I miss Soren."

Meraxes snorted. "Well, Titus is practically using that kid as his page boy."

"No kidding. Where do you think he is right now?"

At that, Meraxes laughed. "Probably in Titus' quarters sampling the finest honey mead known to man."

Serana frowned. "He's a bit young for that, don't you think?"

"A boy's never too young for his first sip of mead," Meraxes replied with a grin that slowly faded. "But, wherever that bastard has him, I'd like to think he's alright."

"I hope so."

**Eternal** night took hold of Coldharbour just the way it had in Tamriel.

When Orthjolf, Vingalmo, and Soren heard heavy footsteps headed their way, they each ducked down in terror, for they knew Molag Bal wished to visit his pathetic prisoners once more. Scamps scattered in the wake of his loud approach as he inspected the dark, ability-neutralizing vines in which he kept his vampires.

"I giveth, and so I can taketh away," he purred as he stroked the great tree which contained them. "Akatosh just _had_ to keep his Champion alive...he paid me a great price to battle Hircine over her curse. Do you know what that price was?"

Molag Bal laughed and stabbed the tree hard. Dark blood trickled from its wound like sap.

"Oh, forgive me," he said mockingly, "This is the woman I attempted to wed before Lamae. Her Turning didn't take, so I settled for making her a tree instead of a vampire." He showed his teeth in a dastardly grin. "Isn't she beautiful?"

Soren gaped, horrified, at Molag Bal's display. Was that what Daedric Lords were capable of? Spreading chaos everywhere they went with no remorse for their actions?

He felt like he was going to be sick.

"The Dragonfires have been extinguished for centuries. And, thanks to Akatosh's little promise, I can do whatever I want with _these."_

It was then that Soren noticed the black anchors, each fastened to a massive chain with an end that disappeared above the dark clouds.

Soren lurched, leaning over and spraying vomit all over the Void-like ground. Vingalmo pinched his nose angrily in response; the vampire looked as if he was about to rip his hair out.

Orthjolf only laughed nervously as Molag Bal started away. He couldn't help but assume the worst: that there was no way for him, Vingalmo, or Soren to escape.

He knew they were trapped in Coldharbour indefinitely.

"We have to get out of here," Vingalmo said as soon as Molag Bal was out of sight. The hand he still had was shaking vigorously.

"I've never seen you this afraid before, old friend." Orthjolf's brow furrowed as he steadied Vingalmo's arm with his own. He examined the tree with a scowl. "I'm afraid there's no way out of a Daedric Lord's trap. You should know something like this."

Vingalmo shook his head. "There's a way out of _every_ trap. We just have to figure this out."

"What if we try climbing one of those?" Soren pointed to one of the anchors.

Exchanging a glance, Orthjolf and Vingalmo erupted into voracious laughter.

"One of _those?"_ Vingalmo asked with a dismissive sneer. He was more than well-versed on his Tamrielic history, having been alive for much of it. The fact that Soren didn't know what they were for, well... "Oh, you sweet, Summer child. Do you even know what they are?"

Soren looked down at the black dirt as he tried to recall something he'd sworn he'd read. But the knowledge came up blank, so he merely shook his head at Vingalmo.

"They're these big, sharp things that are supposed to pull Tamriel into Oblivion," Orthjolf said. Though his explanations were sub-par at best, he seemed proud of himself for trying.

Vingalmo gestured at Orthjolf with his thumb. "This oaf is referring to the Planemeld." He sat, crossing his legs comfortably, as he figured he would be there for quite a while. "Events took place which supposedly protected Tamriel from another one of Molag Bal's attempts at world domination, but it seems the Dragonborn has somehow upended this exchange." Vingalmo sighed ruefully and lowered his head to meet Soren's eyes. "Molag Bal has made some sort of deal with Akatosh. When the Aedra and Daedra strike compromises, things don't end well."

"Molag Bal's done quite enough for us," Orthjolf growled, chucking a flat rock at the roots that kept him imprisoned. "Our Master is dead because Molag Bal couldn't protect him from Akatosh."

Vingalmo sighed, annoyed, and grasped Orthjolf's wrist to prevent him from throwing another stone. He was exhausted with the sound it made.

"I have _two_ hands, you know."

Vingalmo scowled and dismissed his old friend's mockery. "I know you're tired with Molag Bal and Akatosh's interactions, but, mind you, they are quite beyond us."

Watching his fellow prisoners debate, Soren scratched the bag of his head. Memories of the readings he'd done on the Planemeld were coming flooding back to him.

A terrible thing was indeed coming to pass if Molag Bal could manifest his dastardly plans.

_Lady Serana would know how to find a way out of this,_ Soren thought as his eyes flitted between Orthjolf and Vingalmo. They sounded awfully like they'd given up; like they were keen to sit idly in their prison until the world came to an end. _What would she do?_ His fists tightened as he inhaled the Coldharbour air, stirring to his feet to touch the roots of the dark tree in which he was contained.

"There _has_ to be a way out of here."

Vingalmo snorted. "This isn't an ordinary trap." He pulled Orthjolf's axe from its sheath _—_ Orthjolf shouting defiantly in response _—_ and embedded the weapon into the tree. Soren's eyes widened when he saw the substance that dripped from it.

It was alluring, thick, and red.

_Blood._

"I'll take _that,"_ Orthjolf spat and reclaimed his axe. He shot a menacing glance at Vingalmo.

Vingalmo shrugged, leaning against his sturdy prison and breathing deeply. "Do you see now, Soren? What we're trapped in isn't a mere tree. It has a soul of its own. It's a _person._ "

* * *

**End of Chapter 4.**

**Next:** Zira learns something about herself. Meraxes and Serana bond.

 **SB:** I know I said I'm on a hiatus to write original fiction, and this is still true. However, I will never completely abandon this story and I am using it now as a warmup for my original work. This does not mean _Bound_ is less important than what I'm working on. I merely have certain priorities as an author at the moment. But, rest assured, our protagonists will complete their journeys, and I will make this story as wonderful as I can.

 **Warning:** Chapter 5 contains lots of nudity. Beware. The. Noods.


	5. Wolf, Dragon, and Cat

**Meraxes** was finally well enough to bathe in the High Hrothgar hot springs. Being bedridden for weeks and hardly able to exercise the strength of her upper arms since she couldn't walk, she was in dire need of a cleaning.

What was more, Arngeir had allowed Serana to remain with her for a full week since he found she was the only person Meraxes bothered listening to. Arngeir would tell Meraxes to do Borri's recovery exercises, but they were quite painful, so she would only perform them under Serana's discretion and supervision.

Serana wouldn't lie. She was skeptical about bathing with Meraxes, especially after what happened the last time they washed together. But the hot springs were more than big enough for the two of them. Its sheer size brought Serana relief as she peeled off her Royal Vampire Armor, unaware of Meraxes' prying eyes.

A few times, Serana had seen Meraxes without clothes on. She'd been in danger most of those times.

But Meraxes had never witnessed Serana in such a vulnerable state.

Even as she stripped her light armor away, Meraxes noticed light from the window catching on her metal collar. It was the one thing Serana hadn't taken off.

"Your neck _—_ " Meraxes stammered. She quickly stared at the water, not knowing why in the world she'd said that.

But it somehow felt like it was the only thing she _could_ say.

Seeing Serana naked _—_ well, mostly so _—_ was unusual in so many ways it made Meraxes stop thinking.

Yes, that was it. It was the situation's atypical nature that made Meraxes' cheeks redden so much. It was the strangeness of seeing her vampire friend so bare, the soft curves of her body illuminated by natural light, that made a burning sensation gather in her throat; in her stomach; in places Meraxes knew it had no business.

And she wished, as Serana stared back at her, that it had no authority.

But it did. The warmth took over Meraxes' body faster than the Imperials disbanded the Stormcloak Rebellion.

She swallowed hard when Serana raised an eyebrow at her, descending slowly into the spring.

"And you told _me_ not to stare all those times." Settling against the stone wall, Serana let herself laugh. "Funny. What are you even looking at?" She looped a finger through the front of her collar, gently tugging it forward. "This?"

Meraxes bit her lip. Being of Nord and Imperial descent, she was pale enough that her blush showed clearly.

_Who am I fooling?_ she thought as Serana shifted beside her. The vampire swanned through the spring with a grace Meraxes didn't share. Whatever tact she had was quickly replaced with a crass, distant awkwardness she'd never displayed before. Meraxes frowned as soon as she looked down at the water, examining her body with cold eyes. It was brutish and taut with muscle that could only be categorized as unfeminine. Her legs were both nothing but stubs at the knees.

They were pitiful reminders of what was, and what was never to be again.

"What would you do," Meraxes said suddenly as she looked up to meet Serana's bright eyes. "If it was your last day on Tamriel?"

Her head reeling ever-so-slightly backward, Serana seemed startled by the question. "Well," she started, "Meraxes..." She hummed as she thought, pulling her hand from the water and reaching tentatively at Meraxes. Meraxes obliged her and interlaced their wet fingers together. "That's difficult to answer. Being immortal, vampires don't exactly hold time in the same regard mortals do. That being said," Serana hesitated, examining Meraxes' reflection in the water with a slight smile. "Most vampires don't have deep emotional connections to mortals. Not like I do." Seeming lost in thought for a moment, Serana cocked her head at Meraxes. "What would _you_ do?"

Meraxes sighed and leaned against the side of the spring. "I'm only asking because of the state I'm in." Her gaze hardened as her eyes settled on Serana's. "The World-Eater is coming, Serana. and I might not be able to stop him."

The second she began to look away, Meraxes felt Serana's grip tighten around her hand. She didn't want to think about losing her Dragonborn. Her best friend.

Not now, and not ever.

Not _again._

"Meraxes, I don't think you understand," Serana said softly. She raised the hand she'd used to hold Meraxes' to cup her glistening cheek. "You're _—"_

And then Meraxes' eyes froze determinedly, still as the Windhelm water in the winter. "I know what I'd do."

Her expression softened greatly when her hand slipped over Serana's. She could feel her pulse in her throat, but for once _—_ just this time _—_ she didn't let that stop her.

"What is it?"

Serana swallowed her next words when Meraxes pressed her lips against her palm, heart falling into her stomach.

It had taken Meraxes a hell of a lot to realize what she wanted. It was because of Serana that all the danger she'd faced since even before she was dubbed "Dragonborn," she didn't have to face alone. It was because of Serana that she felt like she had a reason to continue on, destiny aside.

"I know you have things to sort out at the College," Meraxes said. She could feel Serana's tepid breaths against her cheeks. "But don't go, because I would..." Pulling away slightly as she trailed off, Meraxes almost looked embarrassed. "Well, I would..."

It didn't take long for Serana to realize how little distance remained between her lips and Meraxes'. It would have been so easy to close it, but doing so would mean more than Serana was ready for.

"You'd... _what?"_ Serana asked instead, but the door opened before Meraxes could even think up a reply.

Arngeir's face paled when both women turned to examine him. He was old and used to seeing all sorts of things, but he nearly dropped the towels and fresh linens he'd brought the second he realized he'd interrupted something.

"I apologize for breaking this up, but I have some things to discuss with the Dovahkiin." Arngeir bowed almost awkwardly, calm as Borri emerged behind him with a four-wheeled, wooden chair. "Until your leg is well enough to be fit with the prosthetic, Jarl Balgruuf commissioned a carpenter to fashion you a way to get around. It's a horse-drawn chariot."

Meraxes grumbled, only reddening further when Serana helped her out of the bath and into her tunic and tied off pants after she'd dried herself. She settled into the chair with Serana and Arngeir's assistance.

"Why is this necessary, Arngeir?" Meraxes sighed and stared down at an empty harness where she supposed the horse went.

"Because," replied Arngeir, "Paarthurnax requires your presence. My fellow Greybeards are well versed on the Way of the Voice, but are too frail to take you to the Throat of the World. We are instead tasking your friend with your protection."

"Why _now?"_ Serana wrapped herself in clean linens. She couldn't wait until her armor was washed, as she seldom wore anything else. "It must've taken days to make that thing. You could have at least let Meraxes and I know of a meeting in advance."

Arngeir shook his head. "My apologies, but the chariot was originally commissioned as a means to take the Dovahkiin down the mountain in case she needed more qualified healers. Paarthurnax does not speak with us often. It is imperative we get her to our Master as soon as possible."

"Well," Serana said with a frown, "She's going to need more than a tunic if she's _—"_

She went quiet when she felt Meraxes squeeze her hand from inside the chariot.

Arngeir examined their exchange, continuing, "We have a new development from Jarl Balgruuf's armory. Eorlund Gray-Mane made it especially for her. It comes with everything she needs."

"How much did all of this cost?" Meraxes asked from within wheeled chair, every second she spent craning her neck to look at her allies paining her more.

"Nothing, Dovahkiin." Arngeir smiled slightly. "These people know how important you are to Tamriel, and Jarl Balgruuf is well aware of your political assistance in years past. They are gifts."

Arngeir strained pushing Meraxes' chair up the stairs, making her eyes roll. She wished she could walk on her hands as not to make others slave away hauling her around.

Unfortunately, Meraxes was about as talented an acrobat as she was an archer.

He took her to the center hall where dark clothes sat, polished and unworn. They were like nothing Meraxes had ever put on before. In her years of fighting, she'd become so used to iron and steel. It was strange to see boiled leather instead.

"They probably thought it'd be best for you to wear something..." Serana hesitated, running her hand over the black armor. _"Lighter._ After what happened to you."

"Well, I obviously can't wear the greaves or the boots."

Meraxes traced the symmetrical designs carved into the leather. They were genuine and rigid, the same as their new owner.

"Look at the cloak," Arngeir suggested.

Attached to the cloth and leather tunic was a cape that dropped down nearly to the floor, dark as night and lined with beautiful fur.

"It's wolf."

Serana couldn't hide her smile. Though Meraxes was no longer a werewolf, she still had a beast in her that was difficult to tame.

She remained a wolf at heart _—_ there was no debating that.

"It suits you," Serana added as she helped Meraxes into the armor. It was strange reaching into a wooden crate to dress her. "Although there's so much black you look like you might be going to a funeral."

Were Meraxes to have been completely honest, she would have admitted that she'd caused far more funerals than she'd been to. But she bet Serana already knew that.

Pulling on her gloves, Meraxes looked up at Arngeir. "I don't wish to leave High Hrothgar until I have my sword and Serana is properly armored."

Arngeir nodded understandingly. "I would agree with you, but this is a time-sensitive situation. We have robes Serana can wear that will protect her from the cold."

It wasn't the cold Meraxes was worried about, but after a nudge from Serana, she obliged.

"Thank you for being cooperative this time, Dovahkiin," said Arngeir. "I will retrieve the horse."

**Typically,** citizens avoided the streets on the Third of Hearthfire. The day was known as Tales and Tallows, a celebration of Necromancy across Tamriel.

The holiday had manifested itself into a living nightmare in 4E 209. With the sun still absent from the sky, feral vampires and other night creatures had begun to take over every Province of the Empire.

The Third of Hearthfire, 4E 209 was the beginning of The Volkihar Wars, a series of conflicts between the Imperial Army and the rising undead named after the man who started them.

But there was more to it than just that.

The Third of Hearthfire, 4E 209 was Zira's long-lost son's thirteenth Name Day.

She pulled a marble from one of her armor pockets and spun it between her fingers. When her boy was still around, she taught him how to play with them. The Khajiit's Eye had been his favorite.

Even though she abandoned him for the sake of her freedom, Zira still considered leaving her son in Whiterun the biggest mistake she'd ever made.

So she sighed deeply, caressing the Khajiit's Eye marble and staring into the blackened sky.

And then she rapped on the door.

_"What is the music of life?"_ a wispy voice rasped.

"Silence, my brother." Crossing her arms over her chest, Zira waited for the door to open.

_"Welcome home."_

The stone slowly gave way to reveal the Sanctuary Zira had intimately come to know. She hesitated outside, her eyes transfixed on the banners of the organization she'd sacrificed everything for.

"What are you standing there for?" a familiar voice asked. "Come inside!"

"Ah," Zira said, entering the Sanctuary and shutting the black door behind her. "Babette. How was Vittoria Vici's contract?"

Babette stared up at Zira with excited, bloodshot eyes. "Worth it," she replied. "I've been alive a while, but I never expected to kill a bride at her own wedding! I waited until she was beneath a loose statue, and then I pushed it at _just_ the right angle to crush her. Best contract Astrid's ever given me!"

Zira smiled and patted Babette's head, Babette promptly swatting her hand away.

"Sometimes, you forget I'm not a _real_ child."

Zira sighed at Babette's frustration and set foot inside the corridor. Before she waltzed into the Castle Dour kitchen without a plan, she wanted to clear everything with Astrid and make her disguise more convincing. After all, Zira would be executed on the spot if anyone discovered she was behind Titus Mede II's murder.

"Wait, Zira," Babette called when Zira began to walk away. "There's something you should know before you go in there!"

Scratching the back of her neck, Zira turned around to face Babette once more. "What is it?"

"Cicero." Babette stared at the floor. "Astrid discovered some evidence that he sought to betray her, so she sent Nazir after him. He's dead."

_"Ah,"_ was all Zira said in response.

She'd never particularly liked Cicero, but supposed it was unfortunate that he was killed by his own people.

_So Astrid really isn't messing around these days,_ Zira thought as she traversed the staircase down to where her companions trained by the Word Wall. _I wonder what she'll do to me if I don't take care of Meraxes soon..._

When she thought of Meraxes, Zira's eyes widened. She'd had an opportunity to live in Castle Dour rent-free thanks to that woman, however messed up she was.

The Thalmor had fucked both of them over, too.

Zira was loyal to the Dark Brotherhood. She was loyal to Astrid.

But the more she thought about ending Meraxes' life, the more Sithis lost his grip on her.

Zira rolled her eyes at her own thoughts, rigidity possessing her shoulders as she approached Astrid by the alchemy laboratory.

"How lovely," Astrid said and peered up from a pile of documents to meet Zira's eyes. "Zira. I was wondering when you'd return home."

Nodding as if she were hung on Astrid's every word, Zira leaned against the wall and stared down at her fellow assassin. "I came to discuss some problems with the Gourmet plan," she said calmly as Astrid flipped through her papers. "I can't just put the Jarrin Root in the carrot mix. The Gourmet is notorious for bringing ingredients to every affair. That means _—_ "

"You'll have to assume the identity of the Gourmet himself. Yes."

_"Himself?"_ Zira asked, surrendering her place against the wall in favor of a seat across from Astrid. "You're already a step ahead of me, aren't you?"

Astrid grinned. "Always, dear one. I tracked down a signed copy of the Gourmet's cookbook, _Uncommon Taste._ It turns out the man we're after is an Orc. His name's a bit of a mouthful: Balagog gro-Nolob."

Her eyes narrowing, Zira propped her head on her hands and watched Astrid sign her papers. "You're _sure_ he's our guy?"

"Void take me if he's not," Astrid said with a small laugh. "Rumor has it he's staying at an inn north of Windhelm. You'd better hurry yourself and catch him before he leaves."

Pulling her hood up, Zira sighed and rose to her feet.

Astrid continued, "Some details before you go. Balagog will have a Writ of Passage on his person. That's how you're going to get access to the Castle Dour kitchen, so don't forget to take it." She smiled slightly, pressing her fingers to Zira's hand that lingered on the table. "Please do try to hide the body. And, before you run off, I have a favor to ask of you."

Zira turned her head at the sound of Astrid's voice and scrutinized her inquisitively. "What is it?"

"Cicero's journal is up in his quarters," Astrid replied with an encouraging nod. "Fetch it for me so I might read through the things he wrote about me."

Eyes widening incredulously, Zira pulled her hand out from under Astrid's touch. "You had him killed without even skimming over it yourself?"

"Not that I could expect you to understand," Astrid began with a drawn-out sigh, "But Cicero's behavior had become obsessive and dangerous in his final moments. You would have done the same thing."

"Whatever," Zira replied stiffly, heading up to Cicero's quarters with a disapproving frown.

She pushed open the door and proceeded to look beneath his pillow. After finding nothing, she checked his end table and beneath his furniture. Still nothing.

Where the hell could Cicero have kept _—_

_Oh._

Zira raised an eyebrow when she noticed the Night Mother's coffin slightly open, sauntering around the tall object to find a book wedged in the opening.

Of _course_ Cicero would put his journal there. He had an odd charm about him, but was a bit of a sick fuck.

She lifted the book with a scowl and tucked it beneath her arm, a chill running through her spine when she felt the wind pick up.

How was that possible? She was _indoors._

 _"Come closer, child..."_ a distant-sounding voice commanded. _  
_

Whipping around, Zira drew her daggers and ground her teeth. "Who said that?"

_"Why, I did. Do not be afraid of me...."_

It was then that Zira realized that voice hadn't come from just anyone in the Sanctuary.

She turned slowly, her eyes drinking in the mummy's form as if she were seeing her for the first time.

It was the Night Mother.

Her silence had been broken.

**"I** can't help but wonder what Titus would say if he saw me barreling up the Throat of the World in a horse-drawn cart." Meraxes looked to Serana, who guided the horse by the reigns.

Laughing, Serana glanced over her shoulder to find Meraxes' forehead and wispy, blonde hair poking out from within the chariot. "He'd probably want his money back." Her expression mellowed out as she brought the horse to a slow halt. "Meraxes," she said softly, "There's something I've been meaning to speak with you about."

Meraxes peered out of the chariot, making a face. "Serana, not to dismiss you outright, but you do realize we're climbing a mountain in complete darkness? This conversation should probably wait."

Serana shook her head. Ever since her parents died, Bjorna had been on Serana's mind. What was more, Meraxes had told Serana earlier that day that she might not survive her battle with Alduin.

"Meraxes, you need to visit your mother." Serana's gaze hardened _—_ not that Meraxes could see it. "She needs to know that you're the Dragonborn. She needs to know..." Trailing off, Serana stared up the slope of the mountain. "...what you have to do."

"I'll see her when this mess is over," Meraxes said firmly. A dangerous mix of emotions flooded her mind when she thought about visiting the woman who abandoned her long ago. As she ruminated, she couldn't help but wonder if that was how Serana felt upon her encounter with Valerica. Her fists loosened and she looked to Serana with a distant but understanding expression, conceding with a sigh. "Alright. I'll go if you come with me."

"Meraxes, you have to understand I have business up at the College. I've already been gone longer than I should." It wasn't that Serana didn't _want_ to be with Meraxes. Rather, that was what she desired with all her heart. But the sooner she returned the sun to the sky, the better off the world would be.

It was up to her and Meraxes to save it. But they had to take separate paths in order to accomplish such a thing.

"Arngeir said I should be cleared to leave as soon as I learn to walk again, which shouldn't take too much longer. And it'll take us three days to visit the Riften Jail and get you back to Winterhold."

"That's at least another week," Serana replied flatly. As she thought about the prospect of more adventuring with Meraxes, however, her heart swelled with excitement. The difference between her duties and desires was bound to tear her chest open at the seams. "I'll come," she decided, a stubborn affection filling her eyes as she urged the horse onward up the mountain. "But that's the last time we'll see each other for a while."

Serana couldn't help but find it funny how far her relationship with Meraxes had come. From day one, they held each other at swordpoint. They still had their squabbles every now and then. But lately, no matter what their discourse was about, they empathized with one another so much that they gave in when things mattered.

Meraxes had been there for her when it was time to confront Valerica. It was only fair that Serana be there, too, when the roles were reversed.

The two slowly approached the mountain's peak in silence following their conversation. From the perch on his Word Wall, Serana saw Paarthurnax crane his neck to look closely at her small ensemble.

_So this is the Greybeards' Grandmaster,_ she thought, impulsively retreating a step when she could feel his breath against her face. Serana hadn't yet met a dragon who didn't want her dead.

"Drem yol lok. Greetings, Dovahkiin. And fahdon. You are a friend to the Dovahkiin, no?"

"You'll get used to it," Meraxes said when she noticed how curious Serana seemed at hearing Paarthurnax speak Common.

"I've seen stranger things," Serana assured her, turning to Paarthurnax with bright eyes. "Yes. I suppose you could call us friends."

"It has been long since I spoke to a dur. One of your immortal kind." Paarthurnax breathed deeply and turned his head to examine Meraxes. "I called you here to ensure you were alive, Dovahkiin. But there is more. My kin have told me that wuth unt hi lost mahlaan wah. Over time, you have fallen victim to your old vices. You are withering away."

Meraxes lowered her head, looking genuinely guilty for the second time since Serana had met her.

"Spaan fin Lein hi dreh ni fen. If you cannot slay Alduin, then that is your choice. The prophecy does point to you. But are you a mere plaything of fate, Dovahkiin?" Paarthurnax stared Meraxes in the eyes, seeming to purr as he examined her healing body.

"I don't know, Paarthurnax."

Paarthurnax considered Meraxes' answer pensively, then spread his wings.

"Alduin is evil. Til los nid laan. But that is because, after all these years, he is still victim to his nature. The nature of a dragon, Dovahkiin. Un sahlo ol aan Reyliik. But tell me, what is better? To be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?" He lowered himself to Meraxes, craning his neck so she could see the glint of his scales even through the darkness. "You are dovah. Your nature is a dragon's. Hi fen koraav. Hold onto my spines and I will show you the world through a dovah's miin."

Serana and Meraxes exchanged a look, though Meraxes couldn't see her face until the clouds parted a bit to let through Secunda's faint light. She tied the horse to a post near the Word Wall, then took Meraxes' hand and carefully guided her onto Paarthurnax's back. It was strange seeing her hold onto the dragon's neck, each leg which trailed over the sides truncated at the knee.

"Come on, Serana. I'm not just going to leave you here." Meraxes extended her fingers into the blackness until she felt Serana grip them. As if she were riding a horse, Serana swung her legs over the side of Paarthurnax's body.

Meraxes felt her face warm when Serana wrapped her hands tightly around her middle.

"It was once my turn, Dovahkiin," Paarthurnax said as he lifted off the ground. While looking down, Meraxes was beginning to discover a fear for heights she'd never known she had. "Fin Lein wah spaan. I was forced to decide between loyalty to my kin and saving your kind." Paathurnax dipped his neck, Serana squeezing Meraxes hard as he dove down the slope of the mountain.

The ride was cold and fast and scary. As the frigid whipped through Meraxes' hair, she tried to refrain from crying out into the darkness.

And then Paarthurnax spread his wings and a powerful drift breezed beneath them.

When Meraxes looked up, Secunda seemed nearly close enough to touch. A smile crossed her lips when she heard Serana laugh behind her.

The world beneath them might have been falling apart, but it was still beautiful through a dragon's eyes. It was no wonder Paarthurnax chose man over his brother. When she lifted her chin to examine the brilliant stars, tears filled the brims of her eyes.

She had never before seen something so worth saving except when she met Serana's gaze.

It was then that she felt Serana press her forehead to the back of her neck; that her fingers interlaced with the ones wrapped around her abdomen.

"You see, Dovahkiin, the world I once protected?"

Paarthurnax's voice drifted through the wind and into Meraxes' ears when he turned back toward the Throat of the World, the brilliant Whiterun lights shining beneath him. "Hin miiraad nii los. You are, in fact, no instrument of fate. It is your choice whether or not to accept the responsibility of Dovahkiin. Nuz, dahmaan, you must first overcome your dovah nature. You are as much a dovah as I."

"But I'm not a dragon."

Slowly landing adopt the mountain, Paarthurnax released a chuff that sounded almost mirthful. "Nuz hi los, Dovahkiin. I am proud to call you dovah no matter where your path leads."

"You know," Meraxes said as Serana helped her back into the horse-drawn cart. "I can't understand half of what you say, Paarthurnax."

"Perhaps you could let me teach you Dovahzul one day." Paarthurnax blinked when Serana extended a grateful hand to him, pressing his warm muzzle to her palm. He was confused by the gesture but nevertheless grew a bit lonely on the Throat of the World. Besides, it was good to see the Dovahkiin had a reliable ally.

"Thank you for rescuing her when she was wounded. Paarthurnax, was it?"

Paarthurnax lifted his great head, tilting it at Serana when she asked his name. "Yes. Ahrk kogaan hi. I trust I will see you again, friend of the Dovahkiin."

"I hope so," she replied with a smile.

With that, she escorted Meraxes carefully downhill and back to High Hrothgar.

* * *

**End of Chapter 5.**

**Next:** Meraxes learns to walk again. Molag Bal offers his prisoners something priceless.  


**Author's Note:**

> 1) None of the works I have used for inspiration are my own intellectual property. Bethesda Studios and Todd Howard own The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Game of Thrones belongs to HBO and George R.R. Martin, and Bloodbound the visual novel is property of Pixelberry Studios. This story also contains references from Elder Scrolls Online and other Bethesda/Zenimax installments. If you're curious about where to find any of these, you may contact me and I will gladly direct you to where you might enjoy them.
> 
> 3) Please ask me before using any of my original characters, since those are my intellectual property. Thank you!
> 
> 4) There is art of the characters posted at the ends of some of the chapters. The artist is BooBooTheFOOl (Beetle) on DeviantArt and only she and I have the rights to use the depicted artwork.
> 
> 5) The cover is by patigonart on Fiverr.


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